someone take me home
by vrea
Summary: He's just so tired.


Three years.

It's been three years since Adrien became Chat Noir, Ladybug's partner-in-heroism as well as saviour of Paris.

It's been three years since he met Ladybug, three years since he first talked to her, three years since he first realised those weird flippy things his heart did around her meant something _more_ than friendship or camaderie.

Yet in those three years _nothing_ changed. Ladybug, the ever-elusive superheroine would always laugh and brush off his attempts at winning her heart with a '_Not now, kitty, there's an akuma_'. And he could _never_ argue against that because they only _saw_ each other during akuma attacks.

But he knows, despite her attempts to pretend that nothing had happened between them. He knows he isn't the one she loves. '_There's this boy_,' she had said, when he'd confronted her earlier that day, '_and I love him with all of my heart._' He had had no doubt that it was the same boy from three years ago, and it had been confirmed. She'd glanced up at him then, just for a second, but he'd caught guilt and a pinch of sorrow in her bluebell gaze. '_Even after all this time._'

He hadn't known words could cause so much pain until that point.

Adrien runs a hand through his hair and sighs as he slips into his car. (It had taken a lot of persuasion and _weeks_ of doing everything his father had wanted but Gabriel Agreste had agreed to get him the car in the end.)

He squeezes his eyes shut, his hands working on their own to start up the engine. The needle hovering above his heart stabs at the organ repeatedly when a flash of red catches his attention. It's nothing but a car driving by but his mind flashes back to midnight-blue hair and the girl who might as well have whispered, '_I don't love you. Never have and never will._'

He'd toned down the flirting, of course, over the past three years. But then there would be occasions when she laughed, her lips parting to show white teeth as she giggled at his god-awful pun, or she'd tease _back_, even, causing that little spark of hope to catch fire and _burn_.

And he'd try harder and _harder_ each time, giving it _everything_ he'd got to elict that little curve to her lips, that bare hue of red over her cheeks, to make her oh-so-beautiful eyes light up. It would be then that she shakes him from that wild fantasy of his with that piercing, pitying gaze that held everything she'd said before about them.

Everything hurts.

So he turns up the radio, hoping beyond _anything_ that music can be the lifevest that saves him from drowning in his hopelessly unrequited feelings for her, because sometimes he looks at her and he can't _breathe_. And the throbbing in his chest intensifies, knowing that she's feeling the exact same way for someone else.

_Shut up_, he tells the annoying part of his brain that keeps bringing up those thoughts, and blocks out the voices in his head.

"_Anywhere with you feels right. Anywhere with you feels like Paris in the rain._"

He almost laughs at the irony of the lyrics playing from his speakers, until he recalls nights on rooftops with his Lady–no, he needs to stop calling her that. She is in no way his–as the rain slightly drizzles over them. He remembers glimpsing at the city of Paris, lights glowing prettily in the dark and through the rain, but he also remembers the look Ladybug had on her, with droplets hanging onto her hair like crystals and her eyes closed in such a serene and beautiful way that he abandons the city view without another glance in favour of watching _her_ instead.

That image is just another hard pang to his chest and he flinches, quickly changing radio stations.

"_I'm in a field of dandelions, wishing on every one that you'd be mine._"

He exhales deeply and tries to soak up in the happy vibe of the song, but sadly, his mind has other plans as he is brought back to the time when he and Ladybug had battled against that akumatised florist–after another job well done, a single rose had lain by the feet of his favourite superheroine. When she'd picked it up, he'd smirked.

"_My, my,_" he had said, "_a rose for me? How kind of you, M'Lady,_" and he'd leaned in, just a fraction closer, when she'd given the smallest smile and pushed him away with a finger on his nose, like she always did.

"_It's not for you, silly kitty,_" she had murmured, eyes glassy and distant, "_it's for..._" her cheeks tinged pink. "_Someone else._"

He had bitten the inside of his cheek then, focusing on the sharp pain to keep himself from thinking about how full of _longing_ she had looked, and how _lucky_ that man was to make her blush, and how _she'd never looked at him that way_.

It's suddenly too much–the memories, the tight squeezing in his chest, and he switches stations once more.

"_I swear that every word you sing, you wrote it for me. Like it was a private show, but I know you never saw me._"

It strikes him to the core, those lyrics, because sometimes he likes to close his eyes and pretend that _he's_ the one she blushes for, that _he's_ the one who she had given the rose to, that _he's_ the one that makes her gaze turn wistful, that _he's_ the one she loves.

"_Can I be the one you talk about in all your stories? Can I be him? _"

"_Damn it_," he curses and turns off the stupid radio. He's had enough of... _everything_. He shuts his eyes and rests his forehead on the steering wheel, but all he can see is black spots on a red suit, intelligent blue eyes and two dark blue pigtails. And Adrien curses it all, as he gives in to the stinging behind his eyes and the sour sensation in his nose, because he's so, _so_ tired.

* * *

**disclaimer: i don't own any of the song lyrics !!**

everybody be out there spreading New Years vibes, Christmas fluff, End Of A Decade shenanigans, and then there's me with my angst.

what can i say, guys, it's twelve am and i'm in the _mood_.

also i've been thinking about whether i should make a sequel¿ tell me what yall think, okay? love yall :))

(in case y'all wanna know, the first lyric is from _Paris In The Rain_ by _Lauv_, the second is from _Dandelions_ by _Ruth. B_, and the last two are from _Can I Be Him_ by _James Arthur_)


End file.
